


underneath the mistletoe (every wish comes true)

by insanetwin



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Christmas fic, F/F, emma: we're super friends what do you mean, italicized oh, just ridiculous pining, lots of kissing and strange mysterious unexplained feelings, misletoe fic, regina: please i'm begging you just realize your feelings for me and put us all out of our misery, you're gonna be groaning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27639550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insanetwin/pseuds/insanetwin
Summary: Emma doesn't mind Christmas. But she thinks Storybrook is going a little overboard this year. Especially with the mistletoe. At least once a day, Emma finds herself in an uncomfortable position with a friend or fiend or family member beneath the mistletoe. It nearly happened twice with Leroy, which she narrowly avoided with an elbow to the gut.But mostly it happens with Regina.Naturally, Emma is suspicious.
Relationships: Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan
Comments: 63
Kudos: 617
Collections: Swan Queen Advent Calendar Collection 2





	underneath the mistletoe (every wish comes true)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coffeesometime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeesometime/gifts).



> It's my first attempt at...low-angst, happy fluff story...we shall see how it goes
> 
> thank you so much to my friends spiralofcolors and letitflytoapril for encouraging me!! love you

It's probably nothing. Probably Emma has had one too many lonely nights since that disastrous night-before-the-wedding-panic that had her calling off the whole thing. Or maybe everything has finally gone to her head. She read once that stress can do strange things to the body. It can wake up old sleeping dangers in the genetic code, let loose something in the bloodstream that can turn the light off in your brain. Considering everything that has happened in these last few years (really since the curse broke), it would be perfectly reasonable for Emma to lose her grip on reality.

Maybe she should start seeing Archie again. Like her Mom said, it’s just a few moments under the mistletoe. She doesn’t have to turn it into a full blown conspiracy. But…

It is just a little strange how … _often_ it happens.

When the curse broke, Storybrooke lost its connection to this realm’s holidays. The many public holidays that had once charted Emma’s early childhood now go by unannounced. Instead, the town seemed to celebrate the change of seasons with loud festivals, seasonal drinks, spiked cider, and endless banquets of food. At most a dinner might be scheduled with the whole family on the 24th or 25th, which was fine by Emma. Those holidays only ever represented to Emma a number of chilly empty days away from the few friendly faces she could expect to see in her childhood.

But for whatever reason, this year there’s been a change.

This year, green garlands are now wrapped around stairwells and desks and color the windowsills. Strings of colorful lights now line most of the rooftops in Storybrooke. In the outskirts of the forest, large pine trees have been dotted with delicate ornaments and silver twine.

And then there’s the mistletoe.

It hangs everywhere. Over every store entrance. In aisles of the grocery store. In her Mom’s kitchen. In the garage, in the stairwell of Granny’s, and is often perched above every residential doorstep.

At least once a day, Emma finds herself in an uncomfortable position with a friend or fiend or family member beneath the mistletoe. It nearly happened _twice_ with Leroy, which she narrowly avoided with an elbow to the gut.

But mostly it happens with Regina.

The first time it happened Emma didn’t even see it coming.

It happened while her attention was on something else, probably a budget report or a case file because she had been reading idly as she waited in the lounge area for her coffee to finish brewing, tapping a pencil on the counter, half bored out of her mind already when she’d heard the distant clicking of heels.

She had looked up in time to see Regina’s brown eyes traveling from the ceiling down to where Emma was standing, the expression on her face changing like quicksilver as she made her approach.

Emma barely got out “Hey, Reg-” before cool fingers touched the side of her chin and sealed her unsuspecting, half-open mouth with a kiss.

It had been only a second of contact, barely long enough to call a kiss, but something dazzling and marvelous sparked in Emma’s brain and went out again the moment Regina’s lips left her own.

That beautiful red mouth of hers spread slow and warm over her teeth.

“Careful where you stand, Sheriff. It’s the holidays,” was the only thing Regina had said with that warm, smiling mouth of hers before she handed over a folder containing some new policy or meeting or something else important though the very thought had been impossible at the time.

Something along the lines of “Remember to get this done before the next meeting” or “Remember to read this because I’d like your opinion,” had been said, but since whatever it was had not at all explained the reason for the kiss, it had gone unheard.

For nearly thirty minutes afterwards, Emma had been left utterly speechless. In that time, Emma had managed to pour herself a cup of coffee and make her way to the door of her office, but as if cursed to return to the place she’d been kissed without an explanation, she had found herself back at that very same spot, staring blankly at the wall and idly tracing her (still buzzing) lips.

It was only when her father had come (three quarters of an hour later than permissible) that an answer was provided.

David had noticed the sprig of mistletoe first and then his daughter second, and with a loud jovial laugh, had kissed her on the cheek. When Emma instantly yelped like a whipped dog, her father blanched and pointed blamelessly to the sprig of mistletoe above her head.

“Oh.” She spoke to the curl of green leaves and red berries. Obediently, her high-buzzing astonishment was cut free and her life returned to its calm, lukewarm water of normalcy.

Until, at least, it happened again. 

The second encounter with mistletoe had been on Sunday, in the aisle of a grocery store. Emma had noticed the mistletoe first and Regina and her son afterwards. It had earned her a laugh and a kiss on the cheek from both of them.

The third, on Monday. Regina had noticed it in the doorway right before a city council meeting and had delivered a swift friendly kiss on the mouth. As if that wasn’t bafflingly enough, Regina kept playing _footsie_ with her throughout the whole meeting.

The fourth (and briefest) occurred soon after, in front of the cash register at Granny’s as they waited for their take out. They had been in the middle of a minor argument that Emma can only vaguely remember, only that it was somehow her fault, which should have negated any opportunistic moment beneath mistletoe, but to Emma’s surprise when Ruby pointed out the sprig of red berries above their heads Regina only turned and put a warm, sparkling kiss on Emma’s lips.

The fifth had been on Tuesday, in front of Regina’s office. Emma had only meant to be sweet and bring Regina lunch like she always does after an argument, and though she had noticed the sprig of mistletoe in front of the Mayor’s door, she figured that whatever meeting was currently taking place would obviously take precedence over whatever holiday identity crisis that was currently consuming Storybrooke.

As usual, she’d been wrong.

Once Regina opened the door, some loser from inside (that sounded suspiciously like Zelena though she couldn’t spot any of that fiery red hair) crowed _mistletoe_! and brought both of their attention upwards. Regina looked only briefly annoyed before she’d pulled Emma into another brief full kiss on the mouth.

Then Regina thanked Emma for lunch, grabbed the to-go bag, and gently closed the door again.

But that fifth kiss ( _fourth_ _kiss on the mouth)_ did something to Emma. A wire was tripped and now an alarm has been relentlessly blaring inside her head ever since.

Late into the night, Emma found herself pacing along the soft carpet of her old bedroom in her parents apartment, working herself in circles: was someone intentionally planting mistletoe to prank her or Regina? And if so, _why_? Were they trying to humiliate Emma? Punish Regina? And if so, what _gives_? Maybe Emma hasn’t been the best Savior to this town, but she’s given it all she has got, and if someone is trying to embarrass or humiliate Regina by putting her in awkward positions with _Emma_ , well…that would be _such_ a bummer.

As casually as possible, she mentions her suspicions to Snow.

”Oh, Emma.” Snow crinkles her eyes in sympathetic annoyance. “Really, honey. You’re being a little ridiculous. It’s just mistletoe. The town is just trying to be more festive this year, that’s all.”

Emma flattens her mouth. Alright. Probably it is just in her head. _Probably_ , nobody was planting mistletoe in all of the places where Emma normally runs into Regina. _Probably_ , nobody is trying to play a prank on either her or Regina. Probably they aren’t trying to humiliate Regina by forcing her into overly intimate situations with Emma.

Probably. 

“Yeah, probably. Thanks,” Emma slowly drags her butterknife to the end of her toast then pauses, grimacing, and knuckles her knife. “But then again, it just _feels_ a little weird, doesn’t it? I mean, nobody used to even celebrate this realm’s holidays, and now we’ve got, like, an _infestation_ of mistletoe.”

“Emma,” Snow sighs. “Why don’t you _ask_ Regina how she feels about it? I’m sure she’ll be the first to assure you that the town is not putting mistletoe up just to punish her with your mouth.”

“G _eez_ , Mom,” Emma coughs, ears buzzing with blood. “You don’t have to say it like _that_.”

“Alright, honey. Still, I think you’re making it into a bigger deal in your head. It’s sweet that you worry, though,” Snow says in that sweet, motherly way that dismisses absolutely everything except Emma’s main concern. Then, with a sweet smile, she daintily bites into corner of her toast. “Do you have any fun plans the rest of the week?”

With deep sigh, Emma grunts. “Actually, I got to go.” Then she shoves the rest of her toast in her mouth and stands to go.

“Emma,” Snow sighs. “Don’t choke.”

“I won’t,” she scoffs, and of course, nearly chokes.

::

Emma goes to Regina because that is what she always does when they have a problem. She goes to Regina.

Sure, the problem here is beginning to lean itself more into the mortifyingly personal nightmare realm rather than a town-wide crisis, but then again, so had her wedding, and Regina had helped her through that. Plus, the thought of having to go through the whole month of December anxiously double-checking doorstops and garage entrances just to step into the same place with Regina’s near perfect lips puts a blank, woozy kind of heat in her head that makes her heart dizzy.

So to Regina she goes.

Town Hall has been mostly untouched by the sudden holiday frenzy, save for the single rascally planted mistletoe that initiated kiss number five, most of the decorations involve a few innocent-looking garlands, strings of white lights, and occasionally, behind the secretary desks, a tiny silver Christmas tree. Still, Emma makes sure to thoroughly scan the Mayor’s door from the top of the frame to its bottom, just in case.

Then, seeing it clear, Emma sighs with relief and leans the door open.

“Hey Regina,” she smiles. “Got a sec to talk?”

Almost immediately, the corner of Regina’s smile curls up though it takes another moment for her head to lift from her paperwork.

“Emma.” Regina says, apparently just happy to see her. “Of course.”

There are little signs of comfort: the way the flat line of Regina’s shoulders melt downward, slanting into an A-frame instead; the way her mouth turns lazy at the corner and slopes into a slow, long smile that makes Emma’s chest feel fuzzy. A little mistletoe can’t destroy this.

“Although, frankly, I’m surprised you’re not actively trying to avoid me.” Regina adds, quite suddenly.

Stopping, Emma blinks.

“Avoid you?” she nearly croaks.

Regina’s eyebrows crinkle once before she quirks her head with a puzzled smile.

“Because Emma, you completely failed to speak in support for my latest pitch on Monday, like I _told_ you to. How many times did I ask you to read my proposition before our next city council meeting? At least a hundred.”

Ohh.

Wait.

“What proposition?”

“Emma,” Her own name can sound so wounding when Regina uses _that_ voice. “We’ve already talked about this. The proposition to make that old municipal garage into a youth center, I gave it to you last week. I _know_ I talked to you about it. I specifically said I wanted you to speak up during our town meeting when it was brought up, but you were completely dead to the whole world for those two hours. I even kept nudging you with my foot, with no success.”

“Ah.”

So _that’s_ what the footsie was about. One mystery solved. Emma feels her face wrinkle into her usual: _I’m an idiot_ expression.

“Honestly, Emma. We argued all Monday. Isn’t that why you brought me lunch yesterday?”

“Right” Emma says quickly, because admitting that she sometimes spaces out during their fights didn’t seem like a great thing to bring up.

Regina’s eyes narrow suspiciously.

“Sorry, Madame Mayor,” Emma appeals with the use of her title, knowing how Regina loves it. “My head has been in the clouds lately.”

“More like in the sand,” Regina mutters like she means it, but her mouth is struggling to close over the smile. She returns to her work. “Come on in, Emma. Sit.”

Emma lets the door close softly behind her. Outside, everything smells of frost and slick icy asphalt, but here, where a small heater purrs beside Regina’s feet (and will continue to putter on through all of Storybrooke’s freezing months), the office remains a toasty 70 degrees.

Warmth stings pleasantly along Emma’s cheeks and nose and she sighs, happier now, somehow, as she sinks into the chair adjacent to Regina’s. Freshly brewed coffee steams into the air, smelling of maple and spice. Behind the mayoral desk, delicate white lights twinkle faintly against the frosted windows.

Despite all her worries, in the warm comfortable space of Regina’s office, Emma finds herself almost forgetting why she came here.

Sighing contently, Emma rubs her hands. “I ought to give up searching for an apartment. All I need is a sleeping bag on the couch here, and a pillow, maybe. A few changes of clothes. Beyond that, I’m set. Me and that eternal summer box you got there will cozy it up and live happily ever after.”

”Romantic,” Regina’s voice drawls. “Maybe take it on a date first though.”

“We’re well past that stage now, Regina. When it’s real love, you just know.”

Regina sniffs at this and looks away a little too curtly to still be within the safe brackets of their joke, but to Emma’s surprise, she responds, quite suddenly, with an astonishing resemblance to her Evil-Mayor-voice.

“Unfortunately dear, this place is way above your price range.”

“Typical,” Emma guffaws. “No bedroom, no bath, and I still can’t afford the rent.” 

“Is my Sheriff subtly trying to hint for a raise?” Regina looks up, her eyes crinkly and warm. “Or are you simply calling me a stiff in this ridiculous scenario where I sublet my office to you?”

“Both,” Emma grins, “But actually I came for an entirely different reason. About the mistletoe.”

There’s a pause. That warm smiling mouth suddenly flattens.

“Oh,” That single word stays in the air for a while as Regina quietly clears her throat and looks down at her work again, writing her signature in a neat flourish. “That. Well. What about it?”

“I just wanted to see how you felt about it,” Emma tries to catch Regina’s eyes, but a part of her attention has already been diverted to the pen in Regina’s hand that is now being clicked from an uncharacteristically anxious thumb. “Um – it’s just weird right? Storybrooke has never really celebrated Christmas before. Do you know the reason for the sudden change?”

Regina hums an off-note as if unsure and fiddles with one of her red and green crystal holly earring.

“Mhm, I don’t know if it was an intentional change,” Regina says, and seems to frown at herself before trying again. “Actually, I think it was suggested by your Mother that we do something fun and festive this year. With everything that’s happened…”

That sentence drifts off a little awkwardly, likely inferring at its end an endless list of Emma’s failures: The Dark Ones fiasco, the Hell fiasco, the wedding fiasco, the general disastrous fiasco of her life, and the fact that she’s still living with her parents…

“Right.” Emma grimaces.

“Well, it was suggested that we all needed a little community building. And since a lot of the children enjoyed the holidays they practiced in the curse, we thought we’d incorporate some of its traditions into our normal winter festivities,” Regina says, and sets her pen firmly in its silver holder. Then, after a beat, she changes her mind, and picks it up again. “And well…after everything that’s happened, it was suggested to me that if I – _we_ want anything to change, then we might need a little bit of the…unexpected.”

Regina’s lips purse the way it always does when she doesn’t quiet agree with what she’s saying, her upper lip wrinkling cutely while her lower lip remains flat.

Emma slowly nods and rubs her palms together. Regardless of any white lies, none of this is sounding too devious.

Then her nose wrinkles.

“But why _mistletoe_?”

Regina makes a strange sound, almost like a laugh, though she’s hardly even smiling anymore.

“I don’t know,” Regina answers, “I suppose it’s just for the fun of it. To…encourage good feeling and…spontaneity.”

“Oh. Okay. I guess that makes sense.”

Regina looks at her with a sudden sharp intensity. “Does it bother you?”

“Me? No, of course not,” Emma hurries out a laugh, but staring into Regina’s dark, urgent eyes, her heart picks up, compelling her to drag out the rest. “But I guess I was a little worried about you. I mean, you’re the one getting stuck in so many moments with me, beneath the mistletoe.”

Something flicks quickly across Regina’s expression, too quick to decipher. Then it’s gone.

“I see,” Regina says distantly as she skewers her lips and looks away. “And that bothers you?”

Heat flares up unexpectedly on the back of Emma’s neck. Shifting carefully closer, Emma silently works out a response that can walk the dangerous line of stating how she is feeling without inadvertently offending Regina.

“No,” Emma manages at last. “It doesn’t bother me. I wouldn’t say that.”

“I only ask because if it did, it would be simple enough to take it all down –”

“— I really was only worried about how you’d feel. No, I don’t think you need to take it down or anything—.”

“—which I have no problem doing. How _I_ feel? I’m perfectly fine with the mistletoe. But you’re the one whose brought it up. If you’re at all bothered by all the kissing, please let me know and –“

“I’m not bothered by the kissing!”

The words sounds startingly thick to Emma’s ears, but it cuts through the rest of Regina’s sentence all the same. Feeling all the blood rush to her head, Emma rubs her face and sighs.

“You know what?,” Emma sucks in a sharp laugh through her teeth. “Forget I said anything. It really doesn’t matter. I was just worried that you were uncomfortable. If you’re not uncomfortable then it doesn’t bother me at all. Really.”

A beat of quiet passes.

Nodding slightly to herself, Regina pulls the bottom of her lip in and tilts her head to look at Emma closely. Her eyes sharpen with a quiet scrutiny.

“I’m not uncomfortable.” Regina says at last.

“Alright. Good. Then I’ve got no problem with the mistletoe,” Emma lets out a heavy breath, feeling more than a little weathered by their conversation, but lucky all the same to have arrived safe and sound on the other side of it. “Good.”

“Alright,” Regina says faintly. Her eyes crinkle. “Good.”

Backlit against the white sky, Regina looks somehow more lovely than ever. An idle finger has hooked into the small silver neckless around her neck and now draws it slowly from side to side. On her cheeks, a lovely hint of pink.

In another moment or two, Emma will have to leave. The very thought makes her limbs go heavy and warm like molasses, nearly immovable. Sometimes when she is with Regina, it is hard to imagine ever leaving. Especially when her office is so warm and comfortable.

Outside, an icy fog has descended. Thick snowy branches sway and softly tap against the large frosty glass behind Regina. Through the fog, sparse colorful lights twinkle softly.

“Anyway,” Regina quietly clears her throat, drawing Emma’s dazed sleepy attention back to her. “You remember Henry has that school party-thing at 7 Friday night, right?”

“Oh yeah.” Emma’s heart warms at the memory, lifted by a simple plan with her family on a Friday evening. “I remember.”

“I suspect the whole town will be there, so parking will probably be a nightmare,” Regina’s soft eyes gleam like a light from inside her head has been flicked on. “Can you pick us up?”

“Oh,” Emma has to swallow twice to get that prickly happiness out of her throat. “Sure. Of course. Does 6 work?”

“Can you make it a little earlier? If I’m not there to watch over the preparation, it just won’t get done.”

“Sure. 4:30?”

“Perfect.”

“4:30 it is,” Emma stands and grins, finding that it’s not quite so painful to leave when there’s a plan set already to see each other again. She sighs. “I’ll see you then.”

“Yes,” Regina’s eyes crinkle. “See you then.”

::

Thursday passes like a dream. Emma gets off work late and returns to the sight of her parents and little brother baking sugar cookies in the kitchen. Though Emma is bone tired and discouraged from her day, walking in to see her parents in the kitchen with their baby boy was too much to ignore. She can’t go to her room, now. Not when the kitchen is warm and full of laughter and love, all going on without her.

So, hanging up her jacket, she joins them. She does her best to skirt around her jealousy that Neal gets _both_ the bowl full of frosting and the spatula too.

Emma admits, it does ends up being sort of fun.

The evening is cold and stark and already going blue. It leaves a cloudy frost on all the glass, but inside, everyone is warm. A fire is quietly burning in another room, and on the counters there are bowls of brightly colored frosting, trays of uncooked cookie dough, and a weighty layer of flour that Emma privately doubts they’ll ever be able to remove. It has effectively traveled to all of their hands and left countless handprints on their pants and shirts, but nobody seems to mind.

Emma is pulling another tray of cookies out of the oven when she feels a prickle of magic up her spine.

“Here’s the baking soda you needed, Snow,” Regina calls into the empty air as she sets the small can down onto the marble counter. She pauses, looking around. “Although, it seems as if you’ve managed just fine without it.”

Straightening with the baked cookies still in her hand, Emma stands there blinking at Regina, disoriented by the sudden sight of her in the kitchen, as sharp and lovely as always. She’s wearing a red rosy dress and black blazer. Her lips are perfect.

Spotting her at last, Regina’s mouth tucks up in quiet amusement, probably at Emma’s sake.

Maybe because she’s wearing butter-yellow oven mitts and an ugly Christmas apron that Snow forced on her.

“You look lovely,” Regina cracks a smile, sounding as if she means it. Which, Emma supposes, is the joke.

Great. Emma sighs. She didn’t even have the chance to comb through her hair since coming home.

“Thank you Regina,” Snow calls from around the corner, her voice coming closer, “I wanted more in case we ruin a batch,” she says as she rounds the corner with Neal, then she stops, her face becoming almost comically surprised. “Oh! Well if you look at that -!”

Having now heard five variation of that same “ _Oh look –!”_ Emma’s stomach immediately puts itself into knots. She sighs and closes her eyes, not bothering to look up at the sprig of mistletoe above her, though Regina seems compelled to doublecheck.

“Snow…”

“My goodness. I wonder how that got there!”

“Mom, I swear to god –”

“I swear I put that down!” Snow cries, though her face is bright and warm in its innocence. “Your father must have put it up again. You know how he is.”

“Gross,” Emma darts a furtive look at Regina, adds haltingly. “I really don’t care. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“I don’t mind.” Regina assures, though by the look of that fierce vertical line in her forehead she’s thinking of murder.

Before Emma can claim any greater indifference, Regina carefully steps froward to frame Emma’s cheeks with her hands and bring their mouths together in a warm, tingling kiss.

Though there is a tray of baking hot cookies still in her oven-mitted hands, Emma thinks there is probably nothing less magical than the way her breath sort of just disappears.

Then it’s over, and Regina is leaning away again. Her lips are skewed cutely, in the way she does when she’s trying to hide a smile.

Gently, Regina smooths her lipstick off Emma’s lips, then lets her go.

“Thank you for the baking soda,” Snow says again, looking sort of like a lunatic with that smile of hers.

“I wouldn’t cross this line again, Snow.” is the only thing Regina says before disappearing in a cloud of smoke, though strangely enough it comes out sounding rather jovial, as if she’d said, ‘ _Happy Holidays’_ instead of a vague threat.

Snow just laughs and settles Neal down on the chair beside her.

“What …” Emma begins, but stops. She sets down the sheet of cookies, removes her oven mitts and drops them both on the counter. Right now, she simply didn’t want to know.

Maybe it wasn’t all in her head. Maybe it was. Maybe it was all in good fun, like Regina said. Maybe it’s not.

“Are we ready to frost?’ Emma says, a little forcefully. Neal crows with happiness and Snow beams her happiness on them both, oblivious to the how Emma’s fingers have turned nervous, now rapping quietly on the counter.

::

Friday passes sluggishly slow.

Finally, around 3:40 Emma is able to slip off work. Showering quickly at her parent’s apartment, she ends up wasting twenty minute looking through her closet twice for something a little more dressy than her usual ware, but everything still hanging in this closet are from a time of the wedding fiasco, when Snow thought she had the type of daughter who liked shirts with buttons that start from the middle of the chest and go all the way to the chin and arms that floated loosely around the wrists. Emma hadn’t understood these choices even as she smilingly accepted them and wore them again and again.

That’s all changed now. Snow no longer buys her clothes fit for a doll, and Emma no longer wears them. There’s no longer a man in her shadow, pushing, pushing, pushing. Still. The sight of them now makes her stomach clench up, so she closes the closet and digs instead through the old clothes folded in the wardrobe in the back and finds an old red turtleneck and a warm wool coat.

One day, she’ll have the nerve to throw all of these clothes in a donation box, but for now they gather dust in the closet.

It’s nearing 4:20 when she parks in Regina’s driveway, behind the Benz, and honks obnoxiously. After a beat, Emma flicks off the heater despite the freezing temperatures outside. For some reason, she already feels a little too warm.

Through the fogging window, Emma watches the front door closely, her knee bouncing silently.

She shouldn’t be nervous. God, she’s gone to these events about a thousand times with her kid and his Mom! Who cares if there’s a little bit of mistletoe? Like Regina said, it’s all for fun.

Another minute passes. Emma runs her palms down her neatly pleated black pants, then anxiously straightens them again.

Probably, there won’t be mistletoe. It’s an event for _kids_. No way would Regina green-light decorations for an event with kids that would force them into overly intimate situations, especially not when _their kid_ will be there too, navigating his already overly dramatic social circles. 

No. There won’t be mistletoe.

And if there _is_ –

“Emma,” Regina sighs as she opens the passenger-side door. “Would it just _kill_ you to go ring the doorbell?”

“Give it up, Mom,” Henry slides into the backseat with a grin, looking very adorable in a red button up and bowtie. “Maybe go for something you can actually win. Like banning her from wearing pajamas when its her turn to pick me up after school.”

“Hold on, I did that once,” Emma protests automatically.

“Twice.”

“Well, I was _sick_ the other time. Doesn’t count.”

“Both times count.”

“Oh yeah? On what rule?”

“On the rule that both were embarrassing.”

Emma is about to shoot back another response, but Regina, already settled in her seat, clears her throat in that distinct way she does whenever she wants to remind either of them of a house rule. _No bickering when we’re on a timeline._

“Sorry,” Emma turns to Regina with a laugh half-out of her mouth when her throat suddenly spasms closed.

She can’t explain why. Regina has always been beautiful. Emma knows this. She had known it the moment Regina opened her front door that first night and was never able to overlook it. Over the years, it became pretty typical to sporadically feel struck by a new shade of lipstick or dark satin shirt, but for some reason, the sight of Regina in that same-old merlot wrap dress and dark plum-colored lipstick that she always wears and has worn for years just instantly locks her up.

Regina blinks once and then frowns likely expecting an explanation for the abrupt silence, but Emma can’t think of anything to say. What could she say? _Sorry. You just look really beautiful._

No. God.

With nothing else to do, Emma quickly clears her throat and put the car in reverse, silently rolling them out of the driveway.

From the corner of her eye, she catches Regina toss a startled look toward Henry, but it can’t be helped. Even if Emma’s throat hadn’t suddenly spasmed closed she doubts whatever strangled, half-terrified sound she’d make could relieve the tension anyway. So she remains quiet.

It is mostly a silent drive to the school parking lot, save for the few quick phone calls Regina makes to confirm that she’s not walking into a total disaster. By the time they are passing the frosty school football fields and baseball cages, nearing the mullioned gym, Emma has managed to get herself somewhat under control again.

The second Emma parks, Henry is already out of the door.

“I’m just going to go say hi to Grace, really quick,” Henry says, and escapes before Emma can even think to stop him.

A moment of quiet passes suspended by the motherly compulsion to watch their half-grown son jog across the icy asphalt towards his group of equally bright-eyed, lanky friends. When he has safely crossed the street, Emma can feel the prickly force of Regina’s attention shift instead onto her. 

Shifting slightly, Emma tries to scrape up some small talk material that could safely navigate them from this silence, but before she can even try, a warm hand settles on her elbow, making her jolt as if touched by an electric wire. 

Regina draws back. “Are you _alright_?”

“Yeah, uh, sorry. I’m alright,” Emma laughs, ears burning. She forces herself to keep her eyes on the icy parking lot ahead where people scramble like frantic ants rather than at Regina who has also already folded her legs at the knee like she always does when she’s preparing for a long talk. Her palms feel clammy. “Well, Madame Mayor, considering the sound of those phone calls, I’m guessing nobody has earned the death penalty just yet?”

Regina purses her lips before finally shaking her head. 

“No, nothing so serious as that,” she slides her phone into her purse, but her eyes bounce back a moment later, narrowing once more. “Are you sure you’re alright?” 

“Yeah, Regina. Of course,” Losing half her smile, Emma unwinds her scarf and sets it in her lap, actually sweating now. “Just spacing out, that’s all.”

“Well. Alright. It just seems like —”

“Do you think Leroy will bring that spiked eggnog again?” she rushes over the rest of Regina’s sentence. “I mean, he’s got a real good recipe, but I really don’t want to take him to the station again this year.”

Regina frowns, but after a very long pause she sighs and slips on one of her gloves. 

“No, he’s officially banned from attending any school events,” Regina answers. “Which, your mother fought me on, by the way.”

“Of course she did.”

“You should let her know that if she tries to interrupt one of my council meetings again, I really will banish her from Storybrooke. She can live in that grubby little town we visited. You know,” Regina flicks a hand up to wave between them all the details too small to be remembered right now. “The one you lived in before. You know, the one where thievery is largely allowed?”

“Boston?”

“Yes.” Regina bristles, likely remembering the hot dog she paid seven dollars for, unaware that each additional side was another dollar.

Emma laughs a little. The air settles comfortably between them, chilled slightly by the frosty air. Outside people continue to flick past their fogging windshield in varying states of distress. 

“I should go,” Regina murmurs after a little while. “Marian let me know that Maurice arrived with a truck load of amaryllises, not the poinsettias we ordered. _Amaryllises_. Really. I have no idea.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Emma assures warmly. Then, out of nowhere, she says: “You look really beautiful, by the way.”

It just comes out. Just like that. 

They don’t say stuff like that. They don’t just lay compliments on one other. Not like _that_ , at least. Not without thought. Sure, things like that often came out when they’re in one of those long half-wrangles, half soul-sharing fights they tend to get into when approaching near-death, but never out of the blue. Never just like _that_.

Regina’s eyelashes flutter once. Then, she smiles. One of those slow, beautiful smile that Emma can never look away from.

“Thank you, Emma.” Regina says, and after a moment of hesitation, reaches over to put her soft ungloved hand on Emma’s cheek. It is only a brief, warm touch, but it wipes Emma’s mind clear. “You are so lovely.” She says softly and runs her knuckles along the side of Emma’s cheek.

“Oh,” Emma breathes.

With a soft hum, Regina tucks a blonde strand of hair neatly behind her ear . “I have to go. I’ll see you inside, alright?”

“Alright,” Emma croaks softly.

Nodding, Regina stands to leave and closes the door gently behind her. Emma watches her walk across the icy asphalt into the welter of busy people. She sits there, watching until she can no longer distinguish the pewter color of Regina’s coat amongst any of the others. Then, with a deep sigh, Emma settles her head against the steering wheel and bumps her temple there once, twice, three times.

“What the _fuck_.” She whispers.

::

When she finally makes it out of the car, she is nearly flattened by a man carrying a box too big to see over, full of decorations. Grumbling, rubbing her bumped elbow, Emma briefly checks in with Henry before she is nearly shooed away from him and his friends. Spotting no one else to chat with, Emma wanders around the gym to the asphalt-square in the back. There, white fold-out chairs have been set up beside red tables. Strings of Christmas lights have been set up in a crisscross formation across the numerous trees to light up the space above everyone’s heads. Emma whistles softly at the sight.

Popping her head inside, Emma nearly gawks.

After all these years, some part of her still balks at the sight of magic. Some small part of her brain is still whirring in the back of her consciousness, unable to work it out.

Inside, small snowflakes fall from the ceiling and dissolve above people’s heads, without touching them. Garlands are wrapping themselves around the hallway stairs like vines. Somehow, the air has the warm, slightly smokey smell to it, as if a fire were burning, though there’s no chimney in sight. Juniper sharpens the air, making it smell homey and warm, and to top it all off, Emma can even catch the faint whiff of Regina’s famous pot roast.

Balling her hands into her jacket, Emma scuffles her feet hesitantly in the doorway, looking around for something to do.

God it’s been forever since she actually had to decorate anything. It was never her specialty. She always needs directions.

Thankfully, Regina is never too hard to find. Her voice can always be heard above everyone else’s, no matter the situation.

Spotting Regina, Emma’s heart fills like a sail and pushes her forward.

“Regina,” she calls.

Instantly, a livid looking Regina’s head snaps in her direction.

“Oh wow,” Emma whistles lowly and slows. “Uh. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Emma,” Sighing, Regina’s face softens. “Yes, actually, if you don’t mind. Can you please carry the Christmas tree out from the old shed near the football track? It’s in a box,” Glancing down into her purse, she pulls out that old rusty skeleton key ring that she apparently still has and quickly slides off one key. “It should be set up in the small room over there, where the tables of cookies are. I have no idea why it wasn’t set up beforehand.”

This last part is delivered like a knife-point into the neck of the man standing next to her. The man – Gary? Gus? Who knows – flushes a faint red and offers a sheepish smile.

“We forgot where we put that old thing,” Gus or Gary says, and rubs the top of his balding head with a plump hand. “We haven’t set that thing up in years. We figured it was thrown out.”

“No,” Regina answers calmly, mercilessly putting a pin in the discussion so that she can disassemble the Gus or Gary later. She hands Emma the key. “As I said, it’s in the shed.”

“Right,” Feeling almost woozy with relief that she was not Gus or Gary, Emma tucks the key into her palm and grins. “I’ll go get it.”

Though there is still a glacial, borderline dangerous look in Regina’s face, a warmth brightens in her dark eyes.

“Thank you, Emma.”

Emma leaves, feeling strange. Like her heart has been inflated like a balloon. So big, it’s barely contained by her ribcage.

Outside, frost has colored everything a bluish white. Pine branches wave above Emma’s head, heavy with ice as she walks towards the football fields.

The storage shed is tucked behind a tiered manifold of bleachers behind the football field, and the moment Emma spots it, her confidence slips. As sheds go, this one doesn’t seem to be doing so good. Water damage has manipulated the metal walls inward, so it looks as if it were sucking in its cheeks, and the door is so old and rusted, it would hardly surprise Emma if a troll suddenly crawled out from below and denied her access.

On first try, the key doesn’t work. Looking at the rusted lock hopelessly, Emma’s heart slips. She can imagine what would happen if she returned to Regina empty handed. She wouldn’t be torn apart like poor Gary, but Regina may sigh and shake her head like it was silly to count on Emma. To rely on her like she was special, someone to count on, like Emma was her partner – or, or a friend like no one else.

Yeah. That might kill her.

On the second try, though, Emma is stumped once more with the power of magic.

Maybe Regina’s skeleton key still has some of its old power from the curse, or perhaps it is Emma herself, too stubborn to fail, but the lock turns as smooth as butter.

With a relieved sigh, she pulls the door open, wincing slightly at the high-pitched, vaguely woman-like screech of rusty metal.

With the heavy Christmas tree box under one arm, she recaptures the warm sense of invisibility she had earlier, though her pride is slightly battered by the time she reaches the gym again, having gracelessly dragged the box across frozen grass and cold, slippery asphalt.

Finally arriving to the small room Regina had indicated, Emma leans the box against the door and subtly glances around to see if anyone will be on their way over to save her. Christmas has never been her thing anyway, and frankly she doesn’t know the first thing about putting a fake tree together.

But tragically, everyone seems too harassed to give a hand, so Emma sighs and kneels down in front of the box.

Luckily, the box comes with some simple, clear-cut directions, and every piece of the whole assemble appears to be labeled. After a few minutes of huffing, with plastic pine-needles prickling her face, the whole thing is able to sit up on a stand and hold the faint resemblance of a tree.

Stepping back, Emma gives a quick appraisal up and down, then smiles, feeling heartened.

“Oh, good, you got it set up,” A woman sighs hugely beside her, carrying a box. She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand, and smiles, a little too frantically. “Hey, do you think you can decorate it too?”

“Oh, well –“

“Great,” The woman plops the box into Emma’s arms with the same smiling desperation of someone dropping their own screaming child into the hands of a semi-decent babysitter to get a single night off.

Emma whines lowly under her breath but submits to her fate all the same, plopping the box on the ground beside her.

The decorations, Emma supposes, are what you’d imagine: portraits of families in small enamel frames, elves and reindeers made of twine, and large glass globes full of gold and silver tinsel. Emma puts them all up beside one another, without order or much space between the other, trying her best to skirt around the feeling that she is obviously doing it all wrong.

Then, suddenly, a warm hand settles on her upper back.

Jolting, Emma looks up to Regina’s bright, smiling face.

“I see you’ve been tasked to decorate the tree, as well.”

“Oh. Yeah,” Emma blooms with an embarrassingly earnest reticence, like a naughty child trying to avoid rebuke. “I’ve never been very good at decorating the tree, though.”

 _“_ It looks lovely,” Regina gently rubs Emma’s back before sipping from her cider and settling down beside her. “Here, let me help.”

Emma blinks and then nods, feeling heat prickle up her neck. Subtly, from the corner of her eye, she watches as Regina sifts through the remaining ornaments, waiting for one of her own sloppily placed decorations to be delicately readjusted or set aside again, but as time passes, and the tree gradually fills out without a specific order, Emma relaxes again. 

Christmas music plays quietly from another room, sounding almost wordless in the distance – just a lone trumpet and a few plinking notes of piano. Regina sips from her cider again, and then hands the glass off to Emma to be finished off.

“I’ve never been one to really celebrate these things, you know,” Emma carefully slides a glass ornament onto a high branch and watches as it slowly spins a dizzy blue in the light. “When I was a kid, depending on the house, we might go to the local church and get a donation bag or something. But as an adult holidays were usually just days I worked through.”

Regina pauses and then slowly nods. She never meets Emma’s admissions with “I’m sorry”. She knows how flat and hollow it sounds.

“We obviously never celebrated Christmas in the other land,” Regina continues quietly after a while, lowering a branch to carefully clip on a cloisonne blue jay. “But during the curse, I got into the habit for Henry. Henry used to love Christmas morning…waking up with a room full of presents, drinking hot cocoa, making pumpkin bread together… “ Regina shrugs. “Even when the curse broke, I kept up with it.”

Emma nods, basking in the very thought. “That sounds pretty amazing.”

“It was,” Regina admits. “But that was then. A lot has changed since Henry was a little kid. I think we’re all ready for something new.”

“Something new?” Emma asks. Her chest hurts at the thought of any slight change – at what it might do.

Regina only smiles and gently shrugs one shoulder, uncommitted.

The room is beginning to feel overly warm. Though loud, hurried voices continue to stream just outside their door, it all seems somehow faraway and removed, as if the party being put together were a friendly neighborly event that had nothing to do with them. All this noise and clamor and excitement was just something outside of them, something to watch out their window.

A few minutes pass. As the box of decorations gradually empties, Emma is forced onto her feet to wrangle with the higher, less crowded parts of the tree, a position earned by the scant few inches she has over Regina. Regina remains kneeling comfortably by the box, handing Emma each ornament.

“You know,” Regina says as she hands Emma a delicate-looking angel. “If your parents don’t have plans, you can always spend Christmas morning with us.”

Startled, Emma nearly drops the ornament right on Regina’s head. The nook of her elbow thankfully cushions the angel’s fall, keeping her alive one more day.

“Oh,” Emma exhales tremulously. “Wow. Well. I’d love that.”

“You’re always welcome.” Regina says. Emma can tell she is smiling, though she keeps her eyes on the box of decorations as she rustles through the tissue paper. “I’ve been hoping…well. I think it would be good for our lives to be more …connected. For Henry’s sake.”

“Connected?” Emma echoes blankly.

Before Regina can respond, there is a loud jovial hoot from the doorway, crashing recklessly into the silence like some large awkward creature that has failed to see the glass before it hurtles its head fatally through the door.

“Careful you two,” Zelena caws with laughter, leaning an elbow against the doorframe with the same maniacal energy of a crow. “I think I see mistletoe.”

“No you don’t,” Regina responds tiredly, but sharp enough to puncture the lungful of literally anyone else’s responses.

Yet, in the face of her sister’s unyielding mischievous smile, Regina finally sighs and glances up (then because she is unable to see beyond the tree’s width, she stands and looks again), letting out a soft sigh at the small sprig of green hanging over their heads.

“God damn it, Zelena _.”_

“My dear sister,” Zelena feigns a gasp. “Why do you think _I_ put it there? I just got here.”

Regina waves her hand, then grimaces as the shimmer of her magic passes over the mistletoe, leaving it unscathed.

“Of course,” Regina grumbles. “You know, I’m very tired of you intentionally doing the opposite of everything I say.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you give me some kind of instruction for this evening? I must not have heard.”

 _“Zelena._ This event is for children. I told everyone – everyone – that there will not be any mistletoe at this event. It’s inappropriate.”

“Aw. That’s right,” Zelena sips serenely from her champagne, then tilts her head in consideration. “Although, I did see several open jars of cider in the back room of this cute event for children, and considering our crowd of backwoods fairytale characters, I doubt any sense of _deference_ has crossed anyone’s minds tonight.”

“Alright,” Regina rubs her forehead. Her voice sounds strangely hot and ashy as if coals were burning in her throat. “Whatever. I’ll just get someone to take it off later, then.”

“Aw. Poor lamb,” Zelena pouts exaggeratedly at Emma. “Looks like my little sister doesn’t want to kiss you after all.”

“ _Zelena_ ,” Regina hisses.

But it’s too late. Heat scores up Emma’s neck and prickles behind her eyes.

“We’ve kissed before.” Emma says, an admittedly dumb in defense.

“Yes, we have,” Regina sounds gently placating as she passes a hand down Emma’s arm. “My sister is only being an idiot, please ignore her.”

Emma nods. But a hot score of humiliation is burning down her neck and bundling in her throat as something solid and spiky. The only thing currently powerful enough to dam the flood of uncertainty inside of her is the tingling memory of Regina’s kiss.

“It’s just for fun,” Emma’s voice cracks, making the rest of her words sound loud and uneven. “Isn’t it? I mean, we could kiss. I don’t care.”

Regina looks at her sharply, making Emma redden. Zelena immediately cackles.

“Emma,” Regina continues once she has silenced the rest of Zelena’s laugh with a snap of her fingers. “You don’t have to. Mistletoe has no place being here anyway. I don’t want you to feel pressured in any way.”

Emma nods. She should just smile and shrug her shoulders. It’s not like she wants to kiss anyone right now, anyway. Especially not Regina. They’re friends – just friends. It doesn’t matter whether they kiss or not.

“It’s just for fun,” Emma finds herself repeating. “And we’ve kissed before. I don’t care.”

Each word falls out of her heavily, with a sort of trembling impact, like small boulders.

After a very long silence, Regina nods.

“Very well.” Regina says softly and steps forward, coming to a stop in front of Emma.

There, she waits patiently, expectantly.

Oh my god. Emma blinks. Every other kiss they’ve shared, Regina had simply pulled Emma down into a kiss. Now, though, the roles have switched; that single difference makes the once simple process of being kissed almost incomprehensible.

Should she hold Regina’s face? Should she touch her at all, or just bend down to kiss her? What if she accidentally bumps her on the nose?

In the end, Emma decides to put a hand on the back of Regina’s neck to keep herself steady on the long, singular journey down to Regina’s lips.

When the smooth, warm touch of Regina’s lips press against Emma’s mouth, she instinctively scoops Regina closer by the neck, smudging her lipstick. A muffled little gasp flushes Emma’s mouth, tickling pleasantly on her lips.

Emma intends to kiss Regina in the same brief, chaste fashion she had been kissed all those other times, yet as Regina’s lips begin to part, Emma feels herself gently capture Regina’s upper lip, softly extending their contact.

Regina makes a quiet noise and puts a gentle hand on the back of Emma’s elbow. 

It is nothing short of magical. Some part of Emma’s brain whirs wordlessly in wonder.

When they part, Regina quietly tucks her lips in as if to taste Emma’s mouth again. Then, letting out a soft sigh, she aptly clears away the slight smudge of her lipstick at the corner of her mouth and turns a glare onto her sister. The look might have been withering if not for the slight curl of her mouth.

“You,” Regina points to Zelena. “Are going to help me hang all of the holly on the walls for that little trick. And _without_ magic.”

Zelena sighs loudly and dramatically, but before Regina can fully drag her out of the room, she throws Emma a light conspirative wink, as if everything that happened here had all been done for her own benefit.

Dumbfounded, Emma watches them leave with a strangely warm prickly feeling in her chest.

“Okay,” she exhales quietly. She simply can’t expect to understand everything that goes on in Storybrooke. Ulcers could come of that.

::

By 6:30, the last decoration has finally been set up, and by 7:15, people have finally remembered how to smile. Over the last hour, the gymnasium has slowly grown full of people, and now brims to the top, overly warm and full of conversations. The laughter and questions all run over each other _(“Hey honey, did you hear -- ? “Hi, I know, I’m late, I couldn’t believe the parking–”“You’ll never guess –” “Good evening, everyone.”)_

That last voice – clear and cut and dry – pulls everyone’s attention to the front, where Regina now stands, smiling. A Santa hat on her head.

Emma, having just bitten a cookie in half, nearly chokes as her throat spasms closed again.

“Fuck,” Emma mutters to herself, then grimaces as the woman in front of her suddenly turns with a glare – oh. “Sorry, Mom,” she sighs.

“There’s _children_ here, Emma.”

“I know, I know.” She sighs and rubs her chin just in case there’s crumbs before Regina’s warm, smooth voice steals her attention again, booming through the speakers.

“I don’t know about any of _you_ ,” Regina pauses, smiling as her audience perks up. “But I think this year was a little wearying.”

The combined laughter that follows sounds good natured and earnest, all likely remembering the Dark One fiasco, the Hell fiasco, the Wedding fiasco, and maybe even Emma herself, still living in her parent’s spare room and looking pointedly down at her shoes.

“All the more reason, then,” Regina continues softly, her voice impossibly warm, “To celebrate all that we have. This evening, I urge you all to stay close to the ones you love. We have a few games, competitions, and more than enough food and drink. So please, enjoy your evening, play a few games, kiss your darlings, and cherish the people in your life who make years like this fly by,” Regina says, and with a professionally bright smile, adds with a laugh. “I certainly plan to!”

The town applauds, staying together for a moment longer to watch their Queen walk down from the stage before they gently disperse.

Emma doesn’t move. Having caught Regina’s eye, she feels herself go still as Regina picks up two flutes of champagne and makes a clear cut toward her, full of purpose. In all the time it takes for Regina to reach her, Emma remains perfectly still, as if in a trance, not allowing even a single blink to interrupt their connection.

“You look really beautiful,” Emma says when Regina hands her a glass, which earns her a hearty laugh and a warm kiss on the cheek.

“You’re so lovely,” Regina sighs against her ear, which spurs at last the realization that Emma has now called Regina beautiful twice this evening.

 _Fuck_ , Emma thinks.

“Let’s play a game,” Regina slides her arm around Emma’s and sips her champagne, leading her to the wall where their son is already laughing, playing cornhole.

::

The festival is a success. Emma may not be one of those people who knows much about parties – she certainly wouldn’t be able to pick out why this party was a success, or even why this particular night so good – but she can tell by the look on people’s faces and by the laughter and by the way she can’t really stop smiling that it was a success. It is one of those nights that, by the end, already feels blurry, as if it were some precious childhood memory that had, over time, glazed into simplicity. It is now and forever a simple compilation of beautiful moments that makes one smile upon remembering it.

The night is slowly winding down, and Emma has a hundred moments in her mind, already glazed into perfection.

Like when Emma finally won Neal the bear he’d wanted, the big one with a Santa hat. Or the look on Henry’s face when he’d beat Emma in their candy cane race. The way Regina had stayed by her side the whole night

Even that ridiculous fight her family had gotten into over her for the family caroling competition.

Truthfully, Emma still can’t understand how it happened. Her parents must have decided to sign up for the family caroling competition, and placed Emma as a member of their team. Which was fair. The competition plainly states that all immediate family members must participate in a single team, so Emma was added to the Charmings’ team.

This apparently annoyed both her son and his mother who had also decided to sign up, and who (for a reason Emma still can’t fully understand) had adamantly wanted Emma on _their_ team.

Cue the fighting.

Regina and Snow had gotten loud while Henry and Charming quietly supplied prickly side comments to be used as ammo.

Emma, simply trying to mediate, had suggested that they all just sing together, which brought all the fury back to her. So, with Zelena apparently being the only available third party, they decided that Emma would simply compete in both teams.

Though Emma’s throat is still raw from her rough and rather earnest attempt at both _Deck the Halls_ and _Jingle Bell Rock_ , she thinks maybe it was worth it to see the people she loves so dearly fervently fight over their claim on her, even if it was just for a stupid family caroling competition.

It’s nearing the end of the night, and the people are slowly leaving, trailing out into a parking lot.

Emma sighs, and sips her champagne. Across the room, Regina is laughing with Henry. She is trying to best her son in one more game of cornhole before they leave, though by the count of champagne glasses, it is likely she won’t win.

Chuckling softly, Emma watches Regina toss the bag with an air of confidence that might have embarrassed a sober Regina, considering where the bag lands, but Regina only dips her head back with a loud, happy laugh.

A shoulder presses against her own and stays. After a beat, Emma turns to find her mother smiling at her with bright, twinkling eyes.

“Happy?” Her mom asks.

Emma bobs her head. “Very,” she says, and can’t quiet tamper down her dumb grin.

“Mhm. I can tell.”

Emma hesitates and glances over. Snow’s eyes crinkle warmly. The same old trick to get Emma to open up. She is all warm eyes and soft smiles until Emma reveals some vulnerability, and then it’s like rush hour.

“What?” Emma asks.

Snow must catch the guarded tone of her voice because she changes tactics. “Oh, I just wanted to check in. I meant to ask how you are feeling about the mistletoe situation. I know the last time we talked you seemed a little upset…”

“I’m fine,” Emma replies and twists her champagne glass between her fingers, watching the liquid sparkle gold. “Like you said, it’s just for fun.”

“Right,” Snow smiles and sips her champagne. “There’s nothing wrong with a few kisses,” then, with a twinkling look to Emma, she adds. “Especially if they’re _good_ kisses.”

“God,” Emma laughs. “Mom. Come on. Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?” Snow blinks innocently, far too exaggerated to be genuine.

Emma sighs. “Don’t make it sound like…something is going on between Regina and me. The kisses are friendly. That’s all.”

Snow _Ahh_ ’s softly in understanding. She sips her champagne again and looks quietly about the room. The Christmas lights above them twinkle brightly, washing the room with their slow spin of color.

Then, carefully, Snow asks. “So there’s no spark?”

“Oh, lord. _Mom_ ,” Emma cuts in more sharply than she means to. “Were friends. Can you cut it out?”

“Fine fine, I’ll let it go.,” Snow says, simply.

There is a long moment silence, as if the conversation were truly over. But her mother’s eyes do not lose their sparkling intensity. She watches Emma quietly, carefully, from over her champagne glass.

Emma swallows quietly and looks out about the room. She finds Regina in the distance, faraway but still turned in their direction, watching the two of them closely. Emma smiles, and watches as Regina slowly takes her in, and softens. It is a simple comfort, how a smile from Emma can soften her.

Snow hums peacefully. “You just care about each other a lot.”

Emma quickly looks away. “Friends care about each other.” She snaps.

Yet, something flips in her stomach at the implication. Some warm, squeamish feeling that, Emma knows, she’s felt for years. A feeling she’s trained herself to look away from.

“Of course. I just meant that _the way_ you two care about each other –”

“Stop,” Emma says, flatly. “Just stop.”

“Emma,” Snow sighs. “I don’t mean any harm, I’m just suggesting that maybe there is something between you two that you should talk about.”

“There’s nothing.”

Snow crinkles her lips, and Emma sighs, knowing she’s made her mother unhappy. But Emma doesn’t want to talk about it. She can’t. In these last few years, she’s begun to regard her feelings for Regina like the sun. There is a warmth and lovely intensity there that is crucial for her whole world, but she can’t look at it directly. Should she look at it too closely, she might shrivel under its intensity like some kind of river creature that’s flopped open-mouth and stupid onto the baking hot sand.

“Well,” Her mother sighs placidly. “If there’s no spark, there’s no spark.”

Emma twitches slightly. She sips from her champagne, considers ignoring her mother’s comment, and then decides against it.

“I’m not saying there’s no spark, I’m just saying that we’re friends. Neither one of us are interested in women,” Emma urges, feeling a sudden uncontrollable heat in her voice. “I mean if Regina was interested, then – but she’s just not. We’re just friends and that’s all there is to it – god – _I_ don’t see why I have to explain this to you.”

“You don’t,” Snow holds up a delicate hand. “I’m sorry I pushed. I completely understand.”

“Right.”

“I do,” Snow insists. “I understand, honey. You don’t have feelings for Regina. You’re just good friends.”

It is exactly what Emma meant, and yet, hearing the words aloud made them sound suddenly strange to her. Obscure. 

“Regina is not _just_ a good friend. She’s my kid’s mother.” Emma can hear with each word coming out of her mouth the nearly tearful passion in her voice, and though it rattles her, she cannot tamp it down. “We’ve raised a kid together. If I’m lucky, I’ll get to raise another one with her, too. That’s more than just friendship. That’s a kind of partnership. We’re partners, so of course I feel connected to her. But that — that doesn’t mean that her and I — or that _we_ –”

Emma shakes her head helplessly, trapped finally beneath the loud drumming of her suddenly impossibly fast heart.

“Of course,” Snow says, calm as a clam. “None of that means you’re in love with her.”

Shakily, Emma nods and gulps down the rest of her champagne. She does not dare look at her mother again for fear of seeing a twinkle of humor in her eye. She doesn’t know what she’d do if she saw that.

After a long moment, Emma croaks, “I’m going to get some water,” and sets her empty champagne glass down.

::

Fifteen minutes later, Emma has decided to corral her family into the car before Zelena can sneakily refill Regina’s empty glass of champagne.

“Hey, kid! Get your butt over here,” she calls to the lanky group of kids huddled together in the outskirts of the asphalt square.

Upon hearing her voice, Henry cranes his head above the crowd with a furious look. Immediately Emma spots Grace’s head on his shoulder.

“Oh, shit.” She mumbles.

When she falls back into the driver’s side seat, Regina tilts her head to give Emma a lazy, blurred smile.

“Did you get us in trouble?”

“Uhh,” Emma cracks a smile and dips her head to look through her slowly defrosting window as Henry approaches, looking very irritated. “Maybe. Probably just me, though.”

With a soft sigh, Regina leans over to lay her head softly on Emma’s shoulder.

“Poor Emma,” Regina yawns discreetly into the palm of her hand before she puts her cold nose against Emma’s neck. “Don’t worry, my dear. I’ll protect you.”

Chuckling softly, Emma looks down at the top of Regina’s dark head. After a moment, she tilts down to breathe in the soft honey-like smell of her conditioner, her stomach fluttering pleasantly. Leaning further, Emma puts her nose into Regina’s soft silky hair and takes one more deep breath of sweet honey and coconut. It clouds her mind like a daydream.

“Are you smelling my hair?”

Instantly, Emma leans back. “What?” She laughs, ears burning.. “ _No_.”

Regina looks up with dark, smokey eyes. One dark skeptical eyebrow arches.

“I wasn’t! Geez. Lay off.”

“Mhm,” Regina’s mouth tucks upward. “You know, I’ve just started using a new conditioner. Do you like it?”

“Shut up,” She rumbles gruffly, blushing all the warmer as Regina laughs.

At that moment, the back door opens, and Henry collapses into the back seat with a sigh.

“Mom,” her son laments, letting his head dip back. “Can you _please_ put a spell on Ma so she stops embarrassing me in front of my friends?”

“No, sweetheart,” Regina lets out a low lazy smile. “No spell can do that.”

“’Course not.”

“Aw, come on, kid. I’m sorry,” Emma speaks earnestly to the rearview mirror where her kid grumpily looks back. “Look, I’m cursed with bad timing. You know that.”

“Yeah, I know.” Henry says.

It is said affectionately, but he has made the switch to that calm adult voice of his, the one where everything he says seems to refer slyly to something else. Everything means two things at once. Sometimes, in these moments, it feels as if her son has left them all to live on a fundamentally higher-plane of existence, one that permits him to understand things that Emma cannot even begin to articulate. One where everything connects.

Unsure of what else to say, Emma lets out a little laugh and puts the car in reverse.

The ride back is mostly silent, though not uncomfortably so. Henry hums one of the Christmas songs they were forced to perform during their caroling competition, which Regina joins in for a few bars or so before their exhausted voices collapse from overuse.

By the time Emma pulls up in front of the mansion, both Regina and Henry are yawning hugely behind their hands. They both look as if their heads might droop any second into a deep sleep.

Yet, still, when Emma puts the car in park, Regina still softly asks, “Would you like to come in?”

Emma blinks, her stomach flipping pleasantly.

“It’s late,” she says and looks away, shoving away the feeling. _“_ I’d love to. But I suspect you’ll have a headache if you don’t drink some water and go to sleep soon.”

“I will not,” Regina protests, but the loud, squawking laugh from her son discourages her. “Oh, very well.”

“Alright, well I’m going inside,” Henry says and lurches up to loudly kiss both his mothers on the cheek, grinning. ‘Have fun.”

“What?” Emma laughs before Regina quickly shoos him out the door, a suddenly bright flush on her cheeks.

Regina mumbles something vaguely threatening under her breath and subtly turns the heater away from her.

After a pause, Emma turns off the heat, realizing that Regina has stayed behind to talk to her.

Her leg bounces quietly in the silence, sensing suddenly a tension that will dent her happiness. Maybe Regina will discharge a secret litany of offenses that Emma had unknowingly performed that evening, or maybe she will simply bring up, quietly, and compassionately, the conversation Emma had with her mother. Her heart freezes at the thought, though she can’t quiet pin down why. Even that conversation, as embarrassing as it might be, would be a simple one – sharp, to the point, from item A to item B with no heartache in between.

Yet, she sits there, swallowing quietly as if cotton were wadded in her throat.

But after a little while, Regina only turns to look out the blue window at her own house. Christmas lights twinkle brightly along the roofs and the trimmed box tree hedges, coloring the wet brick walkway with a rotary of warm, bright colors.

“It’s supposed to snow tomorrow, you know,” Regina says, suddenly.

It stays in the air for so long that instinctively Emma looks up to cautiously scan Regina’s pitched roof, though she only just checked and replaced the few shingles that seemed precarious in September.

Then, quietly, Regina murmurs, “Would you like to come over and watch some old Christmas movies with us?”

Emma turns to look at Regina with plain surprise.

Here’s another change, larger and more significant than mistletoe: these invitations rarely ever come so close to each other.

Regina tended to spread them out safely across the week, which Emma never questioned. She happily took whatever she could get and was careful never to ask for more. Years in the system taught her to never push. When you begin to look for something more solid, more regular and reliable, that was usually when the invites stopped altogether. She never considered the possibility that Regina might want more as well.

“Yeah,” Emma musters quietly. “Yeah, I would love that.”

“Good.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, gently, Regina takes one of Emma’s hands between her palms. She squeezes Emma’s fingers and rubs the joints warm again, pushing up between the cold knuckles with both thumbs.

“Your hands are so cold.”

“I know,” Emma’s voice sticks. She keeps her tone low to avoid calling attention to it. “Snow’s genes, I guess.”

“Where are the gloves I bought you for your birthday?”

“I wear them all the time.”

“Except, apparently, when you need them.” Regina smiles.

Then, suddenly, Regina bends down to put a long, warm kiss on one of Emma’s knuckles. It seems somehow gentlemanly, as if Regina had just traveled a very long way, crossed countless miles and even slayed a dragon just to kiss Emma very softly on the hand.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Regina whispers.

“Y-yeah. Tomorrow,” Emma stumbles.

Then, with a beautiful smile, Regina opens the door and slips outside. The rush of brisk winter air tingles along Emma’s warm cheeks but does nothing to cool her down. In the warm, overheated car, Emma watches Regina walk all the way to her door with a strangely painful knot in her stomach.

::

The next morning, the world is startlingly still. Her window has frosted the world outside into a dreamy blue and white picture where everything moves in complete silence. Passing cars are muffled by a thick blanket of snow. Everyone is bundled up and mum. Emma wakes up shivering and grumbling as she rolls out of bed.

Balling up her sock, she yanks them over her numb feet and then stands to root through her jeans for her phone.

But the screen is blank. Still no messages.

Emma stills and grimaces.

Maybe she forgot the invitation.

No. Emma shakes her head and shoves her phone deep into her sweatpants. No. Regina doesn’t forget anything.

Regina hadn’t been specific about the time Emma should head over. But probably it was later. Maybe early or late afternoon. Mornings were for Regina and Henry, after all. They were scarcely interrupted unless by a burgeoning crisis.

The next two hours are spent pacing idly around her parent’s small apartment as she anxiously checks her phone every few minutes. Her waiting is broken up by intervals of writing variations of _hey are we still on for today?_ _😊_ before deleting it again.

Regina never forgets anything, but she might regret this. And if she does regret inviting Emma, then she would be counting on Emma’s silence, which makes Emma want to disappear between the floorboards every time she nears sending a text.

“Hey, kiddo. You know, I could use a hand clearing out the garage,” David says as he hands her another cup of coffee. “Are you free today?”

“Uhhh,” Emma grimaces as she reaches out to grip the handle. “Well…”

Just as Emma’s head begins to tilt with defeat, her phone vibrates:

_Regina [9:40]: Where are you??_

“Oh, thank god,” Emma groans and sets her coffee down. Urgently, she texts back: _Lady_ , _you_ _never told me what time._

Three grey dots pop up. Emma stands, her heart ticking like a kettle warming up, happy once more.

“What’s up?” David frowns, one hand framing the rim of his coffee cup. “Are you leaving?”.

“Yeah – Sorry, I can’t help today,” Emma quickly wraps a scarf around her neck. “Maybe tomorrow though. But I gotta go to Regina’s today.”

Old habit: act as if spending time with Regina is a chore. A deflector, she supposes, to the way her stomach flutters at the very thought. Stitching her brow, Emma allows herself to dwell on the thought a moment longer before her phone buzzes again, checking her with motion.

Tugging on a heavy jacket, Emma zips it up and checks her phone.

_Regina: [9:42] I am almost certain I said 9:30_

_“_ No, you did not, missy, _”_ Emma pipes to herself as she pulls on her beanie. Before she can type a response, her phone buzzes again.

_Regina: [9:42]: Henry informed me that I did not. May I suggest that we all blame Zelena?_

Emma laughs. It rumbles up a real good feeling in her chest. Snatching her car keys, she turns to leave.

“Emma,” Her Mom shouts from the top of the stairs. “If you’re running late, don’t you dare drive. I know you. You’ll cut a corner and I’ll lose you to a street post.”

With a grunt, Emma calls up the stairwell. “How am I supposed to get there without a car?”

“You have _magic,_ Emma.”

“Oh right,” Emma laughs once and returns her keys to their ring.

A minute later, Emma stands dazedly outside the Mills mansion door. She rests a few steadying fingers against the porch railing, more than a little out of breath. Magic still has a way of making her dizzy – her head still swims with the thought of slipping through space and time as easily as a thread through a needles’ eye.

The door opens before she can even knock.

“Well,” Henry grins and opens his arms wide. “That was quick.”

Once inside, Henry directs her to the couch where a box of DVDs and VHSs have been carefully unloaded and organized across Regina’s nice couch cushions.

“I think we’ve got every Christmas movie from the last decade,” Henry laughs, and slides his fingers along two nearby VHS, their soft-cover titles unrecognizable to Emma. “Obviously, we won’t be able to watch all of them. But Mom has already picked her favorite, and I’ve picked mine, so you have to pick one out of the lot that looks good.”

“Oh.” Emma says.

“You want hot chocolate?” Henry asks and leaves to make one before she can even think to nod.

Left alone with at least two dozen choices, Emma looks over the slim shiny DVD covers with mounting apprehension.

In all honesty they all look the same. Save for a few key word differences in the title, each cover has the same bright happy smiles and Christmas snow-fall that probably is meant to feel whimsical. Some covers have kids in it, and others only adults, but every face holds the same calm smiling certainty of future happiness.

Walking along the couch’s length, Emma pauses on a few titles that look vaguely familiar, though none really stands out in her memory. She didn’t watch a lot of movies growing up. Some homes would put on a few movies every once in a while, but with all the kids crowded together on a single couch those evenings tended to dissolve into noisy brawls for space or food or time. By the time Emma turned eleven, she learned to slip away before anything got too loud.

“Emma?”

Feeling a tug on her as sturdy as a horse, Emma follows the direction of her heart to the foot of the stairs.

“Here,” Emma calls up to the empty stairwell above.

A beat passes. There’s a creak of floorboards, and then Regina appears suddenly behind the vista stairwell in a beautiful black dress, fiddling with an earring. Her curly black hair is tucked neatly behind her ears. Her lipstick is perfect.

“I’ll be down in a moment,” Regina fondly tucks her chin down to look Emma. “You know, I hope there’s no confusion from our mix up this morning. I really am so happy you’re here.”

“Me too,” Emma manages through her closing throat.

At this point, it is not at all an unusual feeling, but the punching regularity of it is beginning to seem a little troubling.

Fixing her earring at last, Regina lazily leans her elbows on the maple vista stairwell. 

“Have you chosen a movie yet?”

“No,” Emma says at once, cutting her losses the first chance she can get. “Can you help me choose?”

“Emma. You’re supposed to pick one that looks good to _you_.”

“I’m at a total loss. It’s way above my skill set.”

“I’m sure this is terrifying for you, but really you could pick any of them. Though if you pick Miracle on 34TH Street, please pick the one with Maureen O’Hara. I’ve seen the other one too many times to count.”

“Regina, come one,” Emma whines like a puppy left outside. “You know I don’t know what all that means! I’ve watched like five movies in my whole life, and the kid has a whole box out there. Please, don’t make me face that alone.”

Regina releases a long suffering sigh, though Emma can tell by the deeply pitched undertone of her voice that a laugh is curled up in the back of her throat.

“Fine. Pick _A Christmas Story_. You’ll like that one.”

“Really?” Hitching up her mouth in jest, Emma crosses both arms. “Wow. That easy. You think you know me that well, huh?”

Had Emma expected anything but a laugh, she would have swallowed the words before they could even cross her tongue, but now that they’re out she can only watch as Regina tilts her head and then lifts her chin. She looks down at Emma with an abrupt arid intensity.

“Yes,” she responds simply. “I do.”

When Emma can only blink dumbly back, Regina couches the last of her smile into the corner of her mouth and disappears again.

Emma lets out all her breath. Sometimes when Regina enters a room, her presence can feel almost electric, like the static pulse one gets after scuffling socked feet across carpet. But it holds nothing to the complete tingling loss of her absence.

Emma keeps her head up all the way up until the first movie has been pushed into the VCR player, but as the room fills with the few soft melodic notes of the title card, her stomach turns, souring over the great distance between her and Regina.

It’s not obvious. Regina sits on the other side the couch, one hand on her knee and the other on the ridge of the couch so that she can cushion Henry’s head.

It is a normal, usually-comfortable position between them, and if Emma had not so thoroughly learned Regina’s body language, she might have missed the tense quiver of her fingers or the way her ankle keeps rolling.

As the music plays on, Emma dips her head forward to catch Regina’s eye, but the cool depth of Regina’s eyes hold the miniature light of the movie, and nothing else.

After a beat, Emma tilts forward to grab the remote, pausing the movie.

“Kid wanna make some popcorn?” Emma suggests, trying to cheer up her voice.

Though the request sounds bluntly obvious to her ears, Henry reacts with true relish, jumping up and running to the kitchen in a scatter of quick feet.

In the newly earned privacy, Emma leans forward.

“Regina…”

“Emma, honestly,” Regina’s brow deepens as she dips her head inward and then away. “I’m sure we can both agree I’m being ridiculous. We really don’t have to talk about it.”

“Still, it was a dumb joke.”

“It’s not that…” Regina sighs and glances at the open kitchen behind them.

From the kitchen, popcorn pops. Henry hums a quiet melody beneath the low consistent hum of the microwave.

“What?” Emma needles gently.

Rolling her head back, Regina sighs and waves her hand. “It is really not important.”

“Aw. Come on,” she whispers and affectionately leans over to grip Regina’s fingers, shaking them the way she’d loosen her own aching joints in the cold. “Just tell me. I’m not a total brute, you know. I can tell when something I said hurts you. I’d just like to, you know, know why so I can avoid doing it again.”

Though Regina makes a line out of her mouth, her eyes well over as they always do when touched, constantly overflowing in secret like the inside of a dark tender heart.

Then she closes her eyes and blows a rough whistling sound through her teeth.

“Alright,” she gives at last. “We will talk. We _should_ talk. But later. It’s sort of… delicate. And well, we just ought to—“

“Hey, that’s my seat!” Henry calls from the open doorway with two full bowls of popcorn.

Though the moment is clearly over, and their conversation doomed to unravel at the kids presence ( _house rule: never argue in front of the kid_ ), Emma still finds herself clambering over the small space to pull Regina’s squirming body to her own again.

“Sorry kid,” Emma bravely tucks her chin over Regina’s head and holds tight through all the wiggling, almost pulling a half-nelson. “You leave it, you lose it.”

Regina’s squawk of protest is buried against her neck. To her luck, Henry only laughs and pops over the edge of the couch to land on the cushion beside her.

So Emma keeps her new spot. Though it’s with a cost. At some point in all the wriggling, Regina manages to find the most tender, sensitive spot on Emma’s shoulder to sink her teeth into.

With a yelp, Emma’s arms release, and Regina pops back like a jackknife and nearly as beet red as Emma imagines her own face to be.

But to her utter surprise, after a serious amount of grumbling, Regina settles back against Emma’s side without incident.

Gulping quietly, Emma leans over and turns on the movie again. The room fills with the quiet plinks of piano and the walls flush with the soft white light of television snow.

They watch the movie quietly, relaxed but tense as the popcorn bowls are passed between them. Then, miraculously, as Sandra Bullock and Bill Pullman both fall flat in the snow, filling the room with laughter once more, Emma slips her arm over Regina’s neck. The tension leaves as Regina sighs and settles her cheek gently on Emma’s shoulder. With only mild grumbling.

::

Two movies are watched before they all decide they need a break. The garage is made inoperable by the layer of snow that’s pattered up the driveway, so they go without the Benz. Bundling up in sweaters and coats, they shiver their way down to Granny’s to get hot sandwiches wrapped in butcher paper. They take the long way back, shivering along the ocean side where boats rock frigidly against the dock.

It is completely silent, save for the soft swishing of tires and occasionally the long, low foghorn that calls from a great distance, far across the town like the call of some lost, lonesome creature.

When they get back they are all stiff with cold and grateful to be back. Though the opportunity is clearly there, nobody offers to mix up the seating arrangement. They cuddle up close to one another on the small couch.

Two freezing feet slide between Emma’s ankles and another pair pops on her lap. Silly, Emma thinks as she puts a hand on Henry’s leg, but this really is the dream.

It is nearing the late afternoon when they finish _A Christmas Story_ , which, despite the corny outdated jokes, does end up being Emma’s favorite, as predicted. By the time the movie’s credits finish their roll, the screen going wordlessly blue and then blinking off, it’s nearing 5:30, and the only thing lighting their room is the reflection of the streetlights in the falling snow. The blank windowpanes fog up from the bottom.

Though Emma isn’t tired, she slowly stands and yawns, stretching out her arms to stall the process of bundling up again and going home. Outside, the sky has darkened into deep swirl of indigo.

Regina glances out the window where the snow continues to fall, slowly erasing the familiar shapes of the town.

“It’s getting late.” She surmised, sounding very resentful.

“Yeah. I guess it is.”

Skewering her lips slightly, Regina glances at the elegant watch on her wrist before she sighs and rests her chin on the heel of her hand.

“Well. We just have leftovers, but you’re welcome to stay for dinner.”

“Oh thank god,” Emma groans and wraps both her son and his mother in her arms as she falls back onto the couch, her ears ring with their combined laughter.

As the oven heats up the leftover ginger pork, a pot of rice is set over the oven and cucumber salad thrown together to wait in the fridge. When the dinner preparations are finished, Henry gets a call from Grace which causes Regina to subtly pinch Emma’s elbow and not-so-subtly guide her towards the door of her study on the top of the stairs. 

After getting the fire going, Emma collapses on Regina’s fancy black couch near the window of her stately study.

“Hey, is Henry dating Grace?” she asks.

Regina glances at her with a single raised eyebrow as she brings a spoon from her favorite black maraschino cherry jar to her mouth.

“No, my dear,” she says, covering her mouth with her knuckle. “Only friends.”

“ _Really_?”

“I thought you knew.”

“No,” Emma frowns, “They spend so much time together, and talk nonstop, I just figured…”

“Yes, well,” Regina smiles indulgently as she walks over to bring Emma her drink, the ice ringing against the glass. “They’re in high school, Emma. What do you think they talk about?”

“Uh, I don’t know. Grades? Books? Secret operations to evince the villains of this town?”

“Emma. Come on.”

“What?” Emma laughs. “Our kid is kind of a nerd. And if they’re really not dating then what else could they be talking about?”

“Honestly,” Regina returns to her drinking cabinet with a sigh. “Sometimes I wonder if your ignorance is some kind of karma whipped up just for me.”

“Really? You think?” Emma smilingly brings her drink to her lips. “Why?”

“Because it’s so painful,” Regina glances only briefly upward to Emma, and though her voice remains flat and matter-of-fact, in that instant her eyes seem strikingly serious. “Emma. They both talk about girls.”

Something must go wrong in the second it takes for Emma to sip her drink and swallow because she ends up coughing and very nearly spilling Regina’s drink on her fancy couch.

“Shit,” Emma coughs and gulps her drink to lower the risk of a spill. “Um. Wow. Really?”

Regina gives her a hard, level look. “You really didn’t know.”

“Really, no. I didn’t,” Unable to keep down the bubble of uncomfortable laughter, Emma gulps her drink again and settles her spine firmly back against the couch. “Wow. So Grace is…? Well okay. I’m surprised I never caught on to that. ”

“Yes,” Regina sighs as she settles against the edge of her desk with her own drink. “It’s hard to believe that anything like that should slip your notice.”

“Yeah, okay,” Emma scoffs and looks down where Regina’s decided to sit, frowning briefly. Regina always sits on the couch with her. “I’m guessing you knew straight away?”

Regina smirks slightly and looks down at her drink. For a moment it’s quiet, the only sound in the room is the fire crackling between them.

“No, actually,” Regina answers at last, sounding distant somehow, as though she were speaking from another room. “I didn’t. Nobody told me it was possible for two women to like each other. It took me a little while to understand.”

“Oh. Well. Yeah, me neither,” Emma clears her throat uncomfortably, feeling suddenly very warm. She rubs the back of her neck, still staring at the edge of the desk. “Anyway, why are you sitting over there?”

A vaguely annoyed look stitches a line in Regina’s forehead before her eyebrows release it with understanding. With a press of her lips, Regina shrugs once, suddenly all too cavalier.

“I’m just warm,” Regina idly runs the tips of her fingers along her exposed throat.

Frowning deeply, Emma hums out the prickly feeling in her throat.

“Is this about what I said earlier?”

“No, no.” Regina waves her away. “Really, I’m just too warm. And you run like a heater, you know.”

She could almost believe it. Regina does look a little flushed in the cheeks. And with both the oven on and the fireplace going, Regina’s study can get very warm.

But.

“Bull shit, you’re _always_ freezing.”

Regina tosses an unimpressed look in her direction, but something in her neck softens and melts the curve of her spine. With a sigh, she unfolds her arm to bring the drink to her mouth again, where, over the lip of the glass, Regina’s eyes narrow into something gleaming, twinkling.

It draws Emma up straight.

“Come on, Madame Mayor,” Emma appeals lowly, feeling something hot and delightful prickling along the back of her neck and down her spine. She pats the space next to her hopefully “I won’t tell anyone.”

After a long showy sigh, Regina saunters over to the couch, curling over her knees and tucking herself into the small space beside Emma.

Then, Regina tucks her _freezing_ hand into the nook of Emma’s elbow.

“Ugh. You big liar.”

“You usually let me get away with it,” Regina affectionately bumps her nose against Emma’s shoulder before settling her cheek there instead. After a long moment, she sighs and settles her hand against Emma’s warm stomach. “Which movie did you like the best?”

Emma’s neck warms. “Definitely the one about the kid who wants the rifle.” She chuckles and glances quickly down at the hand on her stomach, now rubbing absent minded little circles. She clears her throat, blushing. “You were right. I did love it.”

“It’s a good one,” Regina murmurs contently.

A moment of comfortable silence passes. The fire crackles softly, and somewhere down in the rooms below Henry laughs.

After a little while, almost sleepy, Emma shifts to brush her nose against Regina’s forehead, smiling into her warm skin.

“So who’s the girl Henry’s got an eye on?” she asks.

Regina rumbles lowly, sounding sleepy herself. The hand on her stomach continues its small, slow circles up and down the knoll of Emma’s ribs.

“Janice. He hasn’t said so, but I could recognize those puppy dog eyes anywhere,” When Emma just cocks her head, Regina releases a soft rumble of amusement. “You haven’t noticed? It’s your look, after all.”

Emma sounds out her curiosity. “My look?”

“Yes,” Regina inclines her head enough to meet her eye. “You know the one where you,” she exaggeratedly pouts her lower lip and widens her eyes. “Look like this? Like _please don’t be mean to me, I’ll do anything for you,_ puppy dog look.”

“Oh yeah?” Heat scores up Emma’s neck as she musters up a feeble laugh. “That’s my look, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“You make me sound like a total sucker.”

“Oh, not at all,” Regina leans in, smiling. “Its very effective. Works every time.”

“Every time?”

“Yes,” Regina hums and dips down to rest her lips against the warm space between Emma's shoulder and her neck. “So really, makes me the sucker. Doesn’t it?”

Electrified by the touch of her lips, Emma’s heart curl painfully upward as if yanked by a string.

“I guess so,” she says, but her voice sound suddenly strangled and jumpy and breathless.

Had Regina decided to treat the moment at all like a joke, the abruptly frightening silence between them might have dissolved at once. A roll of the eyes or a pat on the cheek could have done it, but instead Regina goes quiet and the silence flashes like a mirror the reality of what waits between them.

Emma swallows thickly, feeling another spasm in her throat. Her heart picks up inside her chest, and though she tries to calm it with a sip of her drink, she cannot reel it in again.

There’s a soft sigh beside her, warming her ear.

“Emma. You know, there is a reason why I didn’t immediately sit here.”

“Oh?” Emma gulps. “Why?”

Regina’s brow pinch together with faint embarrassment as she pulls her lips in. She sounds out her hesitancy in a long lengthy sigh.

“Well. I did something a little earlier, that was…sort of risky,” Regina crinkles her nose adorably. “And I am still considering whether or not I should go through with.”

Shifting a little, Emma nods and flexes her fingers to bring the blood back into them. Though she’s not very cold, she can’t keep them from trembling.

“Okay. Well. What did you do?”

Three beats of silence passes. 

“Look up, Emma.”

Automatically, Emma tilts her head back to stare at the ceiling.

There above her is the all-too-familiar curl of green and red berries.

“Oh,” Emma breathes. “It’s mistletoe.”

“Yes. It is.” There is a pause and the quiet tinkling of ice as Regina takes a big gulp of her drink before setting it down on the slim sideboard behind her. “I put it there.”

“Okay,” Emma nods, wrinkling her mouth together as she tries to fully work through the meaning of those words. “Like, for decoration or something?”

“No.”

“Oh. Okay, then for fun, like before?”

“Well, yes,” Regina sighs. “But I sort of lied before.”

“Oh?”

“When I said that we put mistletoe up to… encourage good spirits or spontaneity or whatever, I was sort of slightly tweaking the truth. It’s not why mistletoe is really all over the place. And it’s not why I put it up here, now.”

Emma nods. She is trying to put together a sensible collection of words in her mind, but her heart is beating too fast to really concentrate. She looks out across the room to grab onto something solid, but her pupils wobble and blur over the shape of Regina’s neatly organized desk and the large bookcases behind that. Outside, Christmas lights twinkle as blotches of color: green, red, blue, greenredblue.

“Um,” she finally says. “So…You’re the one that put up all the mistletoe?”

“Not all of the mistletoe,” Regina rushes to clarify. “Just this one.”

“And you put this one up …?”

“Right before you came up.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Then there’s silence.

“I wasn’t planning to or anything,” Regina expels a long, shaky sigh and trails her hand slowly up along Emma’s arm. “I just sort of did it. I thought…after that last kiss we shared…I thought maybe you’d like to have another.”

“Another kiss?” Emma flushes hotly beneath Regina’s dark eyed stare. “Why?”

“Why?” Slowly, with a failing smile, Regina skims two fingers along the side of Emma’s chin to level their eyes again. “Why do you think, my dear?”

God. Her heart is beating ridiculously fast. Though her knees are pressing hard against her hands, she cannot quiet hide the way they are trembling.

“I…” Emma shakes her head and exhales hurriedly, dots of black blotting her vision. “I ...”

God why is she _trembling_ like this. What is going on? It’s just Regina, but here she is, acting like –like she’s a girl on her first date ever, like this is something – something –

Maybe it’s just because it’s been a while since she’s been actually touched. Really, truly touched, more than just in passing or on the cheek. How long has it been? Six months? More?

It’s probably just that.

Yet, as she looks Regina in the eye, she feels something enormous and unruly rear up inside of her, as senseless and inevitable as a tidal wave, too loud and angry and blind to do anything but roll over her head and leave everything wrecked.

Gulping in a big breath, Emma leans a little closer, unsure of what she’s doing. All she knows is that her heart is thundering in her chest, banging and urging and begging her to do _something_. A familiar yearning is burning in the pit of her stomach, old and hungry and as desperate as ever, and suddenly she feels like Regina’s warm, pleasant mouth might finally soothe it.

Regina fits her thumb in the cross of Emma’s chin before she bends to cover Emma’s mouth once more. 

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Emma makes a soft desperate, needy sound as everything she has squirmed and tried to look away from in these last few years comes rushing up.

Why she never liked touching Hook –

Why the thought of forever with him made her spiral with panic –

Why she couldn’t bear to think about her feelings for Regina –

Why she kept pushing, pushing, pushing everything she felt down –

Why the very thought of Regina sometimes made her feel like burning up –

Like right now, as Regina scoops Emma’s chin up with both hands to press deeper into Emma’s mouth, opening her up with each hot, frantic kiss – god, it feels exactly like burning up. But it doesn’t hurt. Strangely enough, she feels almost expansive, like the slip of gravity that is now widening the distance between stars, she feels this very similar progress in herself with every trembling touch, kiss, moment.

Overwhelmed, Emma slips her hand along the sharp line of Regina’s hip to hold on to something, to feel grounded, but fumbling that grip, she drags her fingers down to cup behind one of her knees.

A low desperate sound flushes between them before Regina urgently draws her into another kiss. Emma melts beneath a slow, warm mouth and a flat tongue. Wild tremors flourish down her arms and thighs with the same lengthy throb of a guitar string. Emma whimpers, following the motion as best as she can as her whole body trembles violently.

Then, before Regina’s mouth can crash against hers for another kiss, she pulls away again.

The flush of cooler air against her lips wakes her up. Blinking, dazed, Emma looks up at Regina.

The window is pitch black and with only one burning lamp and a fire, Regina is flecked with uncertain light. But her eyes are steady and clear, full of quicksilver changes. The depths of her eyes waver from shallow to deep to shallow again. Emma sees it all. The waiting, and hoping, and the fear of hoping.

Slowly, releasing a hard breath, Regina thumbs the top of Emma’s cheeks. “Are you okay?” she whispers.

“Yes,” Emma tries to smile reassuringly though she’s trembling like a newborn calf.

It must not be very encouraging because a small stitch forms between Regina’s brows. She wavers and leans back another inch.

“Would you like me to stop?” she asks.

“No.” Emma drags her head back and forth, a note of pleading in her voice. “No, please don’t.”

Regina blinks once. Then, slowly, warmth floods back into her midnight eyes. 

"Should I kiss you again, then?" Regina asks coyly.

"Yes." she whimpers. "Please."

"Yes, _please?_ Oh," Regina purrs. "I like that."

Emma can't even banter back. All she can do is watch in wide-eyed, trembling excitement as Regina's smile slowly turns wicked. 

Though an evil look now gleams in her eyes, Regina obliges her all the same. With her thumb against Emma's chin, Regina crosses the distance between for another kiss.

Feeling her lips once more, Emma comes back to life. She arches up with urgency. One hand finds Regina’s dark hair and the other cups the back of her knee. Gently, careful of the couch’s edge, Emma drags Regina onto her lap, muffling the soft sound of surprise that melts into her mouth.

Leaning further into their kiss, Emma opens her mouth under Regina’s, drawing her closer by the hair. The sounds Regina makes is a sort of magic all on its own.

The light in the room turns into a soft faded yellow as the fire dims, leaving only the single weak lamp in the far corner. Downstairs, Henry passes idly through the many rooms, still talking quietly on the phone though his voice is too far away to hear beyond a low rumble of familiar tones. Regina gently circles Emma’s jaw again with the tips of her fingers, making her own soft, familiar tones with every kiss – soft little sighs and gasps and hums that will burn forever in Emma’s heart. 

“To think,” Regina groans softly as she tilts her cheek to accept a kiss below her jawline. “—hmph, that I almost rejected that stupid mistletoe proposition from your mother.”

Emma rumbles with a soft laugh, planting a few more kisses down the long curve of Regina’s neck before the words finally click.

“My mother?” she mumbles against the soft sensitive place behind Regina’s ear.

“Yes,” Regina shudders with a whimper, her knees tightening around Emma’s hips. “Yes, stay right there.”

But Emma is already reeling with the last two weeks of sly, motherly gaslighting.

“Wait,” she shakes her head, drawing back. “My _mother_?”

Regina’s face immediately goes blank. Carefully she draws back.

“Well…” she carefully begins, clearly about to do that thing politicians do to skate around the truth.

Gaping now, Emma numbly slides Regina’s leg off her lap so that she can stand again.

“Wait – are you leaving?” Regina cries, and fumblingly tries to yank Emma down by the shoulders. “Hold on – Emma! Come back here.”

“I – No. I’m sorry,” Ducking quickly beneath the ring of Regina’s arms, Emma marches past her reach. “Fuck – I’ll just – I’ll be back.”

In a puff of smoke, Emma disappears, slipping through time and space to enter into the quiet dim of her parent’s living room. On the couch, her mother and father seem to be cuddling, half asleep. The only light comes from the white, bluish glow of the television screen behind her, a snowy scene in New York playing behind her.

Though it is a charming, almost peaceful scene, Emma steps forward with a short huff to disrupt it, shaking her mother awake.

“Mom wake up.”

Jolting awake, mother blinks up at her daughter wildly.

“What?” her mother cries, blinking with sleepy alarm at her in the dim light. “Emma, what in the world?”

“Look – I need an honest answer,” Emma half laughs and then huffs out an equally sharp breath, struggling to keep her voice down with emotions rising rapidly inside of her like a rattled champagne bottle. “Look – are you the one that put mistletoe all over the town? I’m not going to be mad, I just want to know.”

“Oh Emma,” Snow disparages lightly as she yawns into her hand, shaking her head. “Honestly. Don’t be ridiculous, honey.”

“I am _not_ being ridiculous. I just need an honest—”

“I couldn’t possibly have managed all that. Zelena obviously helped.”

“I –wait. _What_?” Emma roars, spine blooming. “ _Mom_.”

“Well, don’t blame me,” Snow tiredly wipes her eyes and groans, gently patting her husband’s knee to wake him. “Regina was clearly content to captain her sinking ship all the way to the end. She was determined to see to it that you realize your feelings on your own, but I think we’ve all waited long enough,” Snow tucks an unruly strand of dark hair behind her ear before she inclines her eyebrows with interest. “Did it work?”

“I –” Emma flushes, “Well. Yes, but that’s not the point. When I first brought this up to you, you lied to me. You said I was being ridiculous!”

“Well, honestly, honey, I thought you were being a little silly.”

“But I was right. It _wasn’t_ all in my head. Somebody _was_ intentionally putting mistletoe in all of the places I normally have run-ins with Regina!”

“Yes, well, I didn’t think you’d turn it into a full blown conspiracy. I just thought –”

“Okay, first – .” Emma flares with a half-laugh, roughening her voice. “It was _way_ out of line to lie to my face like that. Second, you could have just had a conversation with me like a _normal_ parent. Why didn’t _that_ happen first?”

“Oh, honey. Please. We tried that.” Snow draws her fingertips through her hair. “Sweetheart, believe it or not, mistletoe was not our first plan. It wasn’t even plan C, was it?”

“Plan E, I think.” Her father mumbles sleepily.

“Plan E. That’s right,” Snow yawns again, and daintily covers her mouth. “Trust me, honey, you needed more than just a gentle nudge.

“More like a kick in the keester.” David mumbles sleepily.

“Exactly.”

“Do not say keester to me right now,” Emma warns. “And in the future, when you’re trying to tell your thirty-something daughter that she’s gay and in love with her best friend, maybe make an announcement on Facebook instead or something. That would have been a whole lot less –”

“Oh! _Can_ I announce it?” Snow sits up brightly and clicks on the light. Immediately, her face slides into her ‘ _Oh Emma’_ face, the one she wears when Emma does something she disapproves of. “ _Emma,_ ” she sighs. “You’ve got lipstick all over you! Don’t tell me you left in the middle of _that_ to come and scold me—”

“No –” Emma opens her mouth to defend herself but abruptly closes it again, remembering how she left things. “I have to go.” She says immediately and disappears again.

She reappears in Regina’s study, to the exact spot she left only in her absence Regina has managed to stand from the couch to grab the small box of kleenex on her desk where she stands now, clearing off her remaining lipstick with some success before she is abruptly tackled back onto the couch by a very disoriented Emma.

“Oh!” Regina yelps as her back hits the couch.

“Sorry,” Emma quickly sits up onto her hands and knees, hovering over Regina. “Shit. I really need to practice that.” Noticing the shine in Regina’s dark eyes, she grimaces deeply. “Oh. God. I’m sorry. It all just sort of clicked, and I just – I didn’t mean to just run out like that, I just had to yell at Snow.”

Regina opens her mouth, then closes it again.

“Oh.”

“Sorry,” Emma groans softly, “I totally killed the mood, didn’t I?”

“Well,” Regina flusters with a weak laugh. “It’s not that, really, I just…wasn’t sure what kind of thoughts you were having, and then you just…left. So,” she clears her throat. “I just assumed.”

“Aw. I’m total shit.”

Tentatively, Regina smiles and thumbs the corner of Emma’s mouth.

“Well,” she tilts her head, her eyes shining again. “Of all the explanations you might have had, I think I like this one the best.”

Slowly, leaning down, Emma affectionately bumps her forehead again Regina’s jaw before settling into the warm flushed crook of her neck.

“I’m sorry I left.” She murmurs with a soft warm kiss.

Regina draws in a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry I enabled your mother,” Regina says with a smile that Emma cannot see, but can hear in the way her voice rises, sounding tremblingly bright. Nestling closer, Emma puts another soft warm kiss against the curve of Regina’s neck, her skin tingling at the way Regina shifts and groans, her breath hitching. “But only a little.”

“Mhm.” Emma allows, drawing warm flushed skin into her mouth to suck.

“Oh,” Regina’s breath turns. “If you’re looking for someone to blame, though, _mmmm_ , it should really be Zelena. I hardly even played a part,” Regina’s toes curl, and her shoes drop from the arm of the couch. She gasps. “I only, _ohh_ , planted this one mistletoe, and the rest, I – _mphmmm_ – I- I just walked into. On accident. Sort of.”

“Trust me, Madame Mayor,” Emma dips to teasingly scrape her teeth over her ear before laving it with her tongue. Regina shudders. “Of all the evil schemes that have come out of Storybrooke, I can’t tell you how happy to have been in the mix of this one.”

“Hm.”

“As long as Storybrooke doesn’t make a habit of it.”

“Which part?” Regina tilts her chin up to receive another kiss. “The mistletoe or the whole…pressurizing thirty-five years of _intense_ repression so that I might finally date the woman I've been in love with all these years?”

Emma smushes an incredulous laugh into Regina’s neck, clutching onto her for dear life. _Years?_ some part of her internally cries. She kisses Regina again, and again, and again, one for every year she’s lost, then for every month, and then for every day, until she’s lost count, and figures she might as well start over again.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! <3


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